We saw death every day, and yet still tried to convince ourselves we were immortal and somehow immune to decay. The bubble caused us to be selfish at times, thinking that we were somehow apart and disjointed from the earth and the life around us. That which is born must die, and like street dogs we fought for the scraps of life as if they were our daily bread. I was younger before, ages ago now I think, untouchable and self destructive, wanting to escape from the air escape from the beauty of the day to day and the memories escape from the sun escape from the rain. Didn’t really even know myself, thought I knew all there was to know though, read a James Kelman book and became a philosopher especially when I was drunk which was all the time.
Trying not to analyse every bit, every chapter, the past lingered about like a ghost creeping up on me and surprising me with anecdotes and little musings about hey remember when you did this ha ha, aye right, I laughed along with him, sometimes it was funny sometimes I thought who is this guy and why doesn’t he leave me alone.
Most of the time we were animals or men with one robe and one bowl playing at being people in a twisted and warped world screaming and kicking into the world at birth throughout our lives and to our death. I wanted to be a better person, but I didn’t really know what it meant exactly, probably to die well would be enough, and if I lived well as well as I could in terms of ethics and principles it would be more feasible. I wanted to say easier but I didn’t want it to be easy.
Our breathing stops and all that’s left is an empty corpse that we’d been busy protecting and idolising all of our lives.